Coffee: The Great Unifier, AKA FREDDIE
by The Mudblooded Slytherin
Summary: The story of how a few very broken people are brought back together by coincidence, conversation, and coffee. Fred W/Harry P, Harry P/Draco M. REWORKED AND COMPLETED.
1. Bankruptcy, Rent Boys, & a New Beginning

Ch 1 - Bankruptcy, Rent Boys, and New Beginnings

* * *

So maybe he was being evicted. Maybe he still had no job. Maybe his I.O.U.s weren't worth anything, and were no longer accepted at most respectable (and indeed, not-so-respectable ) establishments. Fred didn't really care. He was out, living his life the way he wanted. Besides, all the ads in the _Daily Prophet_ for loans and financial help always seemed to list "stressed out" next to "in debt" and "annoying creditors" and "imminent bankruptcy". As Fred was not stressed, he reasoned he just didn't meet the requirements. Anyway, he had a plan.

"Hey, love. I'm getting evicted. D'you think I could stay here for a while? You know, just 'til I find my feet again," Fred said with just the right amount of humility through the cracked door. He lowered his eyes the right number of degrees, chewed his bottom lip at the right time, and shuffled his feet the just the right amount.

"Aw, hell, Freddie," said Jonathan. "You know I can't say no to you."

Fred flashed him a brilliant smile. "You're the _best_, Johnny boy," he gushed as Jonathan closed the door and opened the latch.

"I know," Jonathan said smugly as he opened the door wide to let Fred and his luggage through. Fred couldn't help but blush a little when he realized Jonathan was shirtless. Which was silly, really. He'd seen Jonathan shirtless before. "Just put your stuff in the bedroom. You know where it is."

Fred grinned impishly, brushing Jonathan's shoulder as he passed. "Don't I, now."

Jonathan swung the door closed. "I hope you know I expect payment for this," he shouted at the retreating back.

After a moment Fred's voice came from the bedroom. "You know I can't afford rent." He sauntered back out of the bedroom and pushed Jonathan backwards onto the sofa and straddled his waist. "But I suppose I can be your own personal rent boy."

Fred's fingers skimmed lightly over Jonathan's chest, causing his breath to hitch like Fred knew it would.

"J-just m-make sure you're not l-late."

"I'm sure you'll remind me. Now hush." He silenced Jonathan's mouth with his own.

* * *

Fred grimaced into his pint of firewhiskey. Today had not been a good day. He'd gotten into a fight with Jonathan. A fight which encompassed a lot of things being thrown, at him and at Roberto (who, poor dear, hadn't managed to find his pants before being literally thrown out of the flat by use of a levitating spell), and ended with Jonathan dumping all of Fred's stuff out the window. And now it was four in the afternoon (What was Johnny doing home before six anyway? Fred thought crossly) and he was already tipsy.

He wasn't all that worried, though. He could bum around until the clubs opened, then find someone to spend the night with. If he played his cards right, he could get a few days, maybe a week before questions started being asked. And perhaps if he told his story convincingly enough - that is, if he came up with a suitable story - he could milk more, maybe even a couple months.

He really messed up something good this time. Fred smiled as he remembered how he always nervous when Jonathan was bare-chested, no matter the situation, and how he would tremble when Fred ran his fingers across his skin. But Roberto had been so... _Italian._ He wondered idly what he would do if he couldn't find a place. He thought about going home. Then decided that sleeping on a park bench would be better than going back there. He promised himself that he could make it on his own and he would.

Fred was feeling very warm in the club. He'd had more than enough to drink and had been dancing for over an hour. He had met three possible candidates, but he didn't really like them and was hoping that there was at least one more single gay man in the vicinity. There didn't seem like many, and he'd already been swung at for being too forward with someone's partner.

His head snapped to the left. He thought he recognized someone... yes! Dark brown messy hair, about five nine. It was Jonathan. Brimming with liquid courage, Fred made his way over to apologize. Maybe he wouldn't have to go home with any of those cretins after all. He reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder.

"Fred?" the man, who was most decidedly not Jonathan, said.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" Fred blinked. It was. He had lost the glasses, but there was the lightning scar.

"Fred!" Harry shouted. It seemed he had decided to stop being surprised and started being excited. "Come dance with me!"

Fred let himself be pulled back to the dance floor, where Harry started grinding on him in such a way that would have been quite good if Harry hadn't been so drunk. "Harry, what are you doing in a gay bar?" Fred shouted, but either Harry didn't hear him or just didn't answer. He _was_ rather fit. He supposed there would be time for questions later.

* * *

Fred didn't get around to asking questions until much later, in fact not until the next day. He woke around eleven in a bed he had never seen before, in a room he had never seen before, and next to a man he didn't remember falling asleep next to.

He yawned and went to take a piss.

When he returned, Harry was still asleep. Fred smiled softly. He was really quite pretty. Then he frowned. He had just slept with Harry Potter, beloved world-wide celebrity and adored family friend, whom he hadn't seen in months and didn't even know was gay. He could imagine the fallout he would get from this one. His mother might rescind her silent treatment in favor of a Howler. The papers would proclaim, "The Boy Who Lived Deflowered By A Boy".

He stretched and went to make some tea.

He wondered if Harry would be happy about this. He hoped so. He hated those pesky morning-after regrets. He brought two cups back to the bedroom. Harry was awake. He offered him one. Harry gulped it down, despite its high temperature. Fred leaned against the wall and sipped his pensively.

"Harry?"

"Hm."

"D'you think they'll call me "The Boy Who Deflowered"?

* * *

As it turned out, Fred hadn't deflowered Harry Potter at all. That prestigious honor had gone to Draco Malfoy, of all people. Apparently, they had just broken up and Harry had decided now that Voldemort was dead, there was no reason to hide.

"I'm going to live my life the way I see fit," Harry said determinedly. Fred looked at him. He fidgeted self-consciously. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just... I know where you're coming from," he said softly.

Harry looked down. "Actually, you were sort of my inspiration."

Fred laughed. "How so?"

"You broke out. You're doing what you want, no matter what people think. You're family, everyone, they all thought you were one way, they never tried to find out who _you_ are." Harry's eyes shown as he talked. Fred was both flattered and disturbed. Mostly flattered. "I admit, I assumed you and George were pretty much the same, but when Ron told me about what you did I realized that I couldn't live to please other people. I told Draco I wanted to come out. You know, to the public. But he wouldn't listen. So we, erm, parted ways."

Fred shifted uncomfortably. That he had just slept with a very drunken Harry after he had broken up with his long-term significant other over something that he had, however inadvertently, caused was slightly awkward. But apparently not for Harry. Fred furrowed his brows. He didn't want to take advantage of Harry in yet another way, but he _did_ need a place to stay...

"And it's great, isn't it? Doing what you want all the time? I just feel so... _free_. You know?" Harry hopped out of the bed and pulled on some jeans and plain shirt. "I'm going to go get a paper. Just... make yourself at home, yeah?" And with that, Harry was out the door.

Perhaps Fred would ask him later. But then, he already said to make himself at home. So he did.


	2. Completely Starkers But For One Sock

Ch 2 - Completely Starkers But For One Sock

Living with Harry wasn't all that different from living with Jonathan, or any other guy for that matter. He was moderately messy; not too neat or too slovenly. The flat was moderately decorated with moderate furnishings; the sort of thing that implied one had enough money but not too much. Things went on in a sort of moderate way. They didn't fight, but then they had no reason to. Harry went off to his job, and Fred would go out and meet with friends. Harry didn't ask if he had a job and never mentioned the subject of rent, so neither did Fred. Harry didn't really ask many questions. Fred hoped it was because he didn't want to pry, and not because he didn't care. Maybe Harry thought if he asked Fred questions, Fred would ask him questions, and maybe Harry didn't want to answer them. But whatever the reason, they coexisted, and Fred was reluctant to break the peace.

The only major difference was now that he lived at Harry's house, he was seeing a lot more of his brother Ron. Which was, understandably, a little awkward for both of them. Not that Ron ever spoke to _him_. Fred could hear him yelling at Harry, though, telling him that Fred was no good, and that he slept around, and that he probably had some horrible venereal disease, and that he would eventually break Harry's heart. Harry would always respond, usually in a bored tone of voice, "I have to give him my heart first," and whenever he would say that, Fred felt a little pang.

It wasn't as though Fred was in love with Harry, not by any means. He'd been living with the bloke for less than a month, so it couldn't possibly be. Fred decided that he would ignore it and it would go away.

So far, it had worked.

Except for, well, when Harry said that. He still felt it then. Or when he didn't say it, but said something else. Anything, really, from Fred's name screamed in ecstasy to asking for the salt. Or when he wasn't saying anything at all, like when he was reading in the armchair or sleeping. And sometimes when he left and Fred was alone in his flat, with all of Harry's stuff and Harry's smell, waiting for him to get back. Or when Fred went out, and then could think about coming back and Harry would be happy to see him, and it felt almost like home. Or... so maybe it wasn't working. But if Fred pretended it was, it almost did.

And when he pretended that made sense, it almost did, too.

"So what are we having for dinner?" Fred asked. His voice may have sounded jovial, but secretly Fred was a bit worried. Harry liked to cook, and he was good at it, yes, but he also liked to make very strange (and not always appetizing) foods. He came up behind Harry in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Harry's middle. He looked down at the open cook-book. "Oliver Wood's Guide to Haggis for Beginners? You're kidding. Didn't he go into Quidditch?"

Harry looked affronted. "Haggis is very nutritional, I'll have you know, Fred."

Fred coughed.

"Freddie."

"Thank you," Fred said graciously. There was a pause where Fred rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and Harry stared down at the cook-book.

"Freddie," Harry began, in a strange tone of voice.

Fred panicked. Harry was finally going to start asking questions. Why do you call yourself Freddie now? Why don't you talk to your family? Why is Ron saying all these things about you? Why don't you have your own place? His arms stiffened around Harry's waist. Fred knew he shouldn't have picked up someone so close to the family.

Perhaps Harry sensed his discomfort, or perhaps he never meant to ask those questions at all. He merely said, "Could you get me the suet?"

Fred sighed, relieved, and removed his arms from Harry. "Where is it?"

"The fridge."

Fred opened the fridge. "... what is it?"

"The really gross-looking stuff in the clear Tupperware."

He reached in and grabbed a container that looked like it was filled with chunky grey pudding. "Oh, yum," he muttered as he brought it back to the counter. Still, he'd rather eat haggis than answer questions.

"Merlin, Harry. So pretty," Fred breathed to himself as he ran his fingers down Harry's chest. His breath didn't hitch like Jonathan's, but he had this adorable habit of closing his eyes and tilting up his chin in a look of pure pleasure that never failed to make Fred feel like a sex god.

"I'm not pretty," Harry protested.

Fred chuckled. "Oh, of course not," he said playfully. "You're very handsome. Quite manly. The, er, male Aphrodite."

"Adonis?" Harry suggested.

"Now, now. Let's take our egos down a notch, shall we?" Fred's smile froze. He and George used to talk like that all the time. It was always 'we' or 'us' or 'our'. Suddenly he missed his twin with such force that he winced.

"Freddie? What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"... you won't laugh?"

Harry let out a surprised, "Ha, of course not."

Fred groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. "You're laughing already."

Harry pulled the pillow away. Gently pulling Fred's chin towards him, he looked straight in his eyes and said, "Freddie. I won't laugh. I promise."

Fred grimaced and shut his eyes tight, as though if he spoke with an angry facial expression it would make his words less true. "I'm... homesick."

"What?"

"Homesick, I'm homesick!"

"Well, yeah, I got it, but..." Harry tried to find words to say. "... Why?"

"I don't know!" Fred said with more acid than he had intended. Harry looked hurt. Something in Fred told him to stop, but he couldn't be bothered to listen. All of the sudden he had so much anger in him that he couldn't be still. He left the bed and started pacing. In a different situation, Harry might have pointed out how silly he looked, Fred Weasley with a serious expression on his face, walking back and forth completely starkers but for one sock.

"I just-! It's hard, alright? It's harder than you think. I haven't spoke to anyone in my family for almost a year! Even when Ron comes over, which is as rarely as possible now that _I'm_ here, he doesn't speak two words to me. I miss mum, I miss her cooking. I miss dad and his plugs and his eklecticity. I miss Gin, and Bill, and Charlie, and even Percy, the prat. I miss... I miss George..."

As suddenly as the anger came, it left, leaving Fred drained. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. Harry scooted over to him. "Oh, Freddie, I had no idea-"

"It was my birthday last week," he interrupted.

"Your birthday? Why didn't you tell me? We could've..." Harry gestured, presumably to indicate that some unknown activity could have taken place.

"I... I dunno. I thought you might tell Ron or... someone that they'd better do something about it. I wanted to see if they would, you know..." Harry bit his lip, and Fred knew he was thinking that he would have done exactly that. He decided not to press it. "They didn't. Of course. Ron was here, even. He looked at me though. Glared, really. I guess that's better than ignoring me, right?"

"Oh... Freddie..." Harry wrapped him into a hug. Fred held back tears. Harry may not have been good with words, but at least he had someone on his side, and he wasn't about to ruin it by being over-emotional. What kind of inspiration would he be to Harry then? Determined to not spoil their evening, Fred pushed Harry back and this time, Harry didn't protest.


	3. Speeches, Both Short and a Bit Longer

Ch 3 - Speeches, Both Short and a Bit Longer

* * *

The park was warm, even at this early hour. Though, Fred amended himself, nine o'clock wasn't really that early for most people. But the air still had that early-morning crispness to it.

He knew Harry would be upset he had left without saying anything, but he figured that if he got too angry he could just move out. He needed somewhere to think, and if he tried to think at home Harry would ask him what he was thinking about and did he want to talk about it and if he could help and Fred didn't want to deal with that right now.

And besides. He knew that when Bill spent summers at home he would go jogging through this particular park, and Fred didn't Apparate all the way back to Ottery St. Catchpole to sit on a bench.

"Hey," said Bill. Fred started. He hadn't heard his footsteps on the path. "What, ah, what are you doing here?"

"Just, er, sitting. On the bench. You know," he mumbled. Bill smiled a bit and sat down next to him. Fred said nothing.

Bill sighed. "So you come to me, after all this time, because why? Because since I wasn't there, so you think I'll be easy? Be on your side?" he asked. "I know what you said." Fred looked uncomfortable at that. "What, you didn't think they'd tell me every gory little detail?"

"Well, I'd kind of hoped they wouldn't want to talk about it," Fred admitted.

"Yes, well, you know our family. Loves the gossip," Bill laughed. That was good. Laughter was a good sign.

"You're laughing. That's a good sign," Fred said.

Bill snorted. "I'm laughing because I can't believe you're here, trying to make amends with the only one you didn't insult. Personally, I didn't think you'd ever try to make amends with anyone, so good for you." He stood up to leave.

"Bill, wait," Fred said, standing up."I _am_ trying to make amends, so why can't you try, too?"

Bill stooped to retie his shoe. "I have nothing to make amends for, Fred," he said before rising and jogging away down the path. Fred cursed. Twice.

* * *

Fred apparated to the alley near Harry's flat. Harry's wards knew to let him in, but he needed time to clear his thoughts and wipe the tears from his face.

It also allowed him to hear raised voices from inside before actually being inside, which proved to be very fortunate very soon.

He quickly fished out an Extendable Ear from his pocket (he was too preoccupied to think about why it was there) and slipped it under the door. The voice became clear at once.

"Harry, you're not listening. He's bad people!" Ron shouted.

"Ron, you're talking nonsense. He's not 'bad people'. "

"You don't even know where he is right now, do you?"

"I don't have to keep track of him every minute—"

"Harry," Ron interrupted. "Look. I know you really liked Malfoy, but-"

"This has nothing to do with Malfoy," he shouted. There was a pause. "This has _nothing_," he continued in a low, dangerous tone, "to do with Malfoy."

"Fine, sure, nothing to do with Malfoy. But still, Harry, Fred's no good! He's probably out cheating on you right now! He never could settle down."

"I know him, Ron."

"I lived with him all my life. I thought I knew him, too," Ron said quietly.

Fred heard steps coming towards the door. He knew if he Apperated away they would be able to hear it, so he leaped beautifully to his left, behind a shrub. The door started to open. To Fred, it seemed to go in slow motion until he realized that the door was stuck on something. Ron tried to force it open, resulting only in the door rebounding into his face.

He rubbed his nose angrily and muttering something about 'only trying to help and look what it got me', he reached down. With horror, Fred realized that in his haste he had left the Extendable Ear under the door.

He couldn't read Ron's face as his brother stared at the Ear, but then there were leaves in the way and he didn't have a good angle. He imagined Ron rushing back into the flat, yelling, "See how untrustworthy he is, he was eavesdropping on us!", but Ron merely pocketed it and closed the door.

* * *

Ron walked into the Three Broomsticks and couldn't help but grin. This place reminded him of his easier, younger years. Not that having a psychotic murderer after him and his friends was a walk through the park, but at least 'don't die' wasn't too complicated.

He waved off Madam Rosmerta (who Ron still thought was really quite attractive, despite her advancing age) and sank down into a chair opposite his brother.

"What, not getting anything to drink?" Bill asked, raising his own glass of Firewhiskey.

Ron shrugged. "Too warm for Butterbeer, and I never liked Firewhiskey all that much anyway."

"That's right," he smirked. "You like those fruity concoctions. Those are for birds, you know."

"Ha ha," said Ron irritably. "So, why did you want to meet me here, anyway? I was going over to the house later, we could have talked then."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to talk about Fred." Bill carefully gauged Ron's reaction.

Which was, admittedly, a bit comical. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open to a small 'o'. When he finally regained himself, he started to say, "Bill-" but he was cut off.

"No, Ron, I know what you're going to say and we - sit back down! - we have to talk about it." Ron crossed his arms and glared. "Good. Well. He- I talked to him yesterday."

"When?"

"Oh, um. The morning. Around eight thirty, nine, I think," Bill said. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Oh, well, yes. I think... I think we should give him another chance," he finished. A short speech, all in all, he thought, but concise and to the point was always the way to go in the Weasley family.

Ron stared at him. A few seconds ticked by. "Another-" he started to yell, but caught himself. "Another chance?" he whispered fiercely. "Bill, he only went to you because you weren't there. He's just trying to win you over so he'll have an insider!"

"Exactly," Bill said calmly.

"What? What d'you mean, exactly?" Ron demanded.

"Just what I said. I wasn't there. I'm neutral - well, _more_ neutral, not exactly _neutral_," he added hastily at Ron's furious look. "But he can't just go to you all and ask forgiveness. Look how you're acting right now! Of course he couldn't. He needs support from one of the family. He needs someone telling him he's alright. He's taking it in steps, you know? And I'm sure he did come to me because he thought I would be the easiest, but what's so wrong or even surprising about that?"

Bill was much more proud of this speech, and a little surprised that Ron didn't interrupt.

"Bill," Ron sighed. "You don't know. What he did, what he said-"

"Yes, I do. I heard about it from Mum, from Charlie, from you, Ginny. Everybody. Even Percy complained to me about it. So I know all about what happened. And I agree, it wasn't... it wasn't nice." Bill ignored Ron's unimpressed snort. "But he's trying, Ron. We can't just kick him out of the family."

"Think we already did," he muttered.

"Look," Bill said tiredly. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm just asking you to give him the chance to earn it." And with that, Bill stood and walked out of the pub.


	4. Coffee

Ch 4 – Coffee

* * *

Harry walked into the flat and stopped, surprised, when he saw Fred sitting calmly at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

"Hey, Freddie," Harry said happily. Fred wondered why; all his other boyfriends were angry when he stayed out all night.

"Hey, Harry," he replied easily.

Harry hung his coat on the tree and walked to the table and sat down. "You didn't come home yesterday."

Fred felt a burning, queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach, similar to the one he felt before he left home and again when he invited Roberto over to Jonathan's flat. The unexplained need to assert himself and take control.

"No," he said, turning the page, "I didn't."

"Any…" Harry rubbed his nose. "Any particular reason why?"

Fred turned to the next page. "No."

"Oh."

Here it comes, Fred thought.

"Can I get the sports section?"

Fred stared blankly at the paper for a moment before collecting himself. The _sports section?_ "Uh, yeah, sure, here," he said, and fished it out.

"Thanks, Freddie," Harry replied and began to catch up on Quidditch scores.

Fred was very confused.

* * *

It had taken a while, but Bill now had Charlie and Percy on his side, and their father was looking like he'd like to come over, too. Mum was easy; she'd never admit she wanted to see him again but once he was here she'd melt. That left Ron, Ginny, and George. Ginny would come as soon as Ron would, but no sooner, and that would be hard. Perhaps the hardest. George… Bill just didn't know about George. He didn't talk to the family much anymore. Not because of anything like Fred, but, Bill suspected, because it reminded him too much of his twin. Bill really had no idea how George felt on the matter, whether he hated him or missed him or both, or even if they were still in contact secretly. Bill decided to leave George to the last and work on Ron some more.

* * *

"Stop trying to be Mary bloody Poppins flying around fixing everything!"

Bill was nonplussed. He almost spat out the Firewhiskey in his mouth. He swallowed, and said, "Mary Poppins? Ron—"

"_He_ abandoned _us_. _He_ did it." Ron pounded his fist on the table and almost overturned his own sour apple margarita.

Bill glanced around the bar. Thankfully it was full and raucous and no one was paying much attention to them. "He made a mistake. Now he wants to make it right. Now _you're _the one abandoning _him_."

Ron shook his head. "That's not how it works. The abandoner abandons, he doesn't, he doesn't, he's not the abandonee!"

"What in the bloody hell are you on about Ron? That makes no sense," Bill said. "Charlie and Percy and Dad are all willing to give it another go."

This gave Ron pause. "When did you talk to them about it?"

"I've been doing. And you know Mum, she'll burst into tears as soon as she sees him and give him a sweater. I'm sure George can't stay mad at him forever, I mean it's Fred and George. And Ginny, well. Ginny will do whatever you do, so you best make the right decision."

It was Ron's turn to look nonplussed. "So everyone's just forgiving him now?"

"Yup," said Bill. "That's what families do, Ron. They forgive each other their mistakes."

Ron was silent for a moment. "I'll think about it," he said. Bill considered it a huge victory.

* * *

Things had been going good recently. Freddie had been coming home every night and they never had cause to argue. Freddie was in the shower after a quickie and Harry was just putting the finishing touches on his smoked eel when the doorbell rang. Harry slipped the eel into the refrigerator to cool and wiped his hands.

"Freddie, are you expecting anyone?" Harry called. Fred yelled back something unintelligible. Harry walked over to the door and peered through the peephole. It was Bill Weasley, of all people. He opened the door.

"Ah, Harry, just the man I wanted to see," Bill said warmly.

"Hello, Bill," said Harry. "Come on in. Freddie's in the shower," he explained.

"Thanks," Bill said, and entered. "That's alright. I wanted to talk to you, anyway."

"Um, alright. Can I get you something to drink?" Harry asked.

"No, thanks, I'll just be a mo'. Wanted to ask you something."

When Bill didn't continue Harry said, "Yes?"

"How long have you two been together now?"

If Harry was startled by the question, he didn't show it. "Almost six months."

"Do you love him?"

"It's a bit early for all that, isn't it?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Bill said simply. "Can you bring him by the Burrow on Monday? Around dinnertime?"

"I don't think—"

"See, this would have been easier if you had just said yes to my last question," Bill sighed.

"Listen, Bill, what are you on about, because I don't really appreciate…" Harry trailed off. They both clearly heard the shower being shut off.

"Just, bring him. Please," Bill said. "It's a surprise." He made for the door.

"I—"

But Bill was already gone.

A minute later Fred walked into the kitchen with a towel around his waist. "What's for dinner?" he asked, looking in the fridge.

"Bill."

"I admit he always looked tasty to me, lean meat and all—"

"He was here," Harry clarified.

Fred paused. "When?"

"Just now while you were in the shower. He wants me to bring you to the Burrow on Monday. Said it was a surprise."

"Not much of a surprise now, is it?"

Harry looked exasperated. "I wasn't about to just bring you over there! I know you have your… family issues, and I don't want to pry into it. It's your decision."

Fred looked at him and after a second said, "Why don't you want to pry?"

"What?"

"I bet if I didn't come home tonight you wouldn't be angry," Fred said.

Harry looked confused at all the questions. "What? I don't, I mean, would you want me to be?"

"Maybe."

"Why would you possibly want me to be angry at you?"

Fred looked a bit guilty. "Maybe it would show that you cared about the fact I was gone all night."

"You want me to be worried about you?" Harry grinned. "That's cute. Freddie, you're a big boy. I know you can handle yourself."

Fred groaned. "It's not that. I mean, I could be out there sleeping with other guys or something!"

"Well, are you?" Harry asked, and Fred hated the way it sounded like he didn't much mind what the answer was.

"No."

"Okay then. I believe you." Harry turned and started putting dishes into the cupboard.

"But—argh!" Fred threw his hands up in exasperation. "Would you even care?"

Harry spoke without turning around, without even stopping what he was doing. "Of course I would care. But if you are, you are. You're telling me you're not, so how am I supposed to know if you are?"

It sounded so ridiculously reasonable that Fred found he didn't have the words to argue anymore. Nothing was wrong, Fred wasn't cheating, Harry wasn't angry, why was he pushing this topic? He decided to let it go, but he couldn't let go of the feeling that it really didn't matter to Harry one way or the other.

* * *

Fred couldn't sleep. Harry was snoring lightly next to him, a sound which over the last few months had seemed to turn into Fred's personal lullaby, putting him to sleep easily. The clock on the bedside read 2:30am. There was still an hour or so until bar close. Fred got up and dressed quietly, fighting the thought that even if he was loud and woke Harry up the man would just say, "Have fun," and roll back over.

He walked down the street to Kim's 4 Korner's, a Muggle bar he frequented since moving in with Harry. It was a bar that favored the older crowd, and it was quiet this late at night. He sat next to a bloke in a black hooded jumper and ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer. He downed the whiskey and nursed the beer, thinking about Harry and Bill and George. It was all too much, so he ordered another shot.

The man next to him said, "It never works." His voice sounded vaguely familiar but Fred was too caught up in the drink and his thoughts to care.

"What never works?" he asked

"Drinking."

Fred frowned. "I find it's rather easy. Open mouth, insert liquor. Sooner or later-"

"It's all the same when you wake up. You still have to face the day, you still regret all of your regrets, you—"

"You're a cheerful one," Fred muttered.

"You came into a bar alone at three in the morning; don't tell me you don't have problems you're trying to drink away."

Fred had to admit he had a point. "So what if I am? What's it to you?"

The man laughed, a humorless snort. "Nothing."

Fred didn't know what to say to that, so he ordered a rum and coke and another beer.

"I broke my lover's heart," said the man.

Fred paused mid-drink. "Did you?" he said once he swallowed. "What'd'ya do that for?"

"No reason."

"Ah," Fred said knowledgably. "That's quite a good reason."

"Oh, shut up," said the man.

"No, I mean it," Fred said. "I wasn't trying to be sarcastic. No reason is the reason I've broken up with everyone for the last two years."

"What about now?" he asked.

"Well, now, I don't know." Fred sipped his rum and coke thoughtfully. "I'm with this, erm, person." He stumbled over pronouns: it was, after all, a rather conservative area. "It's just, it seems like, uh, she doesn't really care, you know? Doesn't know I'm out right now, but it probably wouldn't make a difference to 'er."

"Sounds nice," the man said.

"You'd think," replied Fred.

"Exactly the opposite here. My old lady," he paused to laugh and take a drink, "used to never get off my back about anything. Always on me to do the family thing, to be all serious about everything, be a _real couple_. Always, 'Where are you going, where are you going?'" He sighed. "I couldn't take the pressure. I left him."

Fred was not so intoxicated yet that he missed the switch in pronouns. "He?" he said softly. The man tensed. "It's okay," Fred said quickly. "I lied. My girlfriend is actually a boyfriend."

He relaxed a bit. "That was the main thing, honestly. I didn't want to come out to my family, or at all, really. He thought it was because I was embarrassed of him, as if anyone could be. I was a fool."

"When I came out to my family…" Fred said, "it didn't go too well."

"They disown you?"

"Pretty much. Haven't talked to most of them in two years."

"Ouch."

"It was my fault, really. I didn't… I was a complete arse." Fred finished his rum and coke and grabbed the beer. "Although I think… I think they're ready to make amends. I've been trying. They've asked me over for dinner on Monday. It's supposed to be a surprise, apparently."

The man turned to look at him, finally, and from under the black hood Fred saw white-blond hair and a pointy face he would never forget. "I hope it goes well for you," the man said.

"MALFOY?" Fred shouted.

Malfoy paled. "Who the—oh, shit. You're a Weasley, aren't you? God damn it."

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Fred demanded.

Malfoy looked indignant. "It's a bar. I'm drinking. I can drink wherever I damn well please."

"Right down the street from Harry's house?" he insisted.

Pink appeared on Malfoy's cheeks. "How do you know that?" Fred suddenly looked uncomfortable. Malfoy paled. "Don't tell me. Oh, no, Merlin, no." He put his head down on the bar. "A _Weasley?_ Come on, Potter…" He looked up and his eyes narrowed. "You're not _Freddie_ Weasley?" Fred continued to look uncomfortable.

"Well, erm, yes," Fred admitted.

"Bloody wonderful," Malfoy said. "Bloody fucking wonderful. Here I am, venting my soul to Freddie Fucking Weasley, gay man extraordinaire, shining beacon of hope to all ponces everywhere, and he's dating my exboyfriend. Fucking wonderful."

"Er," Fred said.

"And not only that, he trusts him! He trusts you," Malfoy spat. "Trusts you to go off and do whatever you want—"

"It's not trust!" Fred interjected. "It's like, it's like he doesn't fucking care at all! He doesn't care if I stay out all night, doesn't care where I am, what I'm doing, if I'm cheating or if I'm not, he just doesn't bloody care! I _wish_ he would ask where the fuck I'm going once in a while! I live with the bastard, for Merlin's sake! We've been together for six months and he just doesn't give a _fuck!"_

Fred breathed heavily and realized he had been shouting. The bartender glared at both of them and said, "Bar's closing. You don't have to go home," he said pointedly, "but you gotta get outta here."

They looked at each other. "You don't want to go home, do you?" asked Fred.

"Neither do you," Malfoy countered.

"Erm. Coffee?" Fred suggested.

Malfoy shrugged and downed the rest of his drink. Fred followed suit, then followed Malfoy out the door. He knew he should go home, home to Harry, not leave the bar with Draco Malfoy, but he couldn't help himself. He was curious. Curious what was so great about Draco Malfoy, first off, Fred had always thought he was a bit of a twat. Also, Malfoy had broken Harry's heart. Fred wondered if he'd be able to see a piece of it. And even though that didn't really make sense, Fred was good at pretending.


	5. Bad Dreams and Good Conversation

Ch 5 – Bad Dreams and Good Conversation

* * *

Fred didn't feel that bad. It wasn't as though he had actually done anything _wrong_, per se. Just grabbed a few drinks with an old schoolmate. And maybe that old schoolmate was the man who broke his current boyfriend's heart, and maybe they did go to an all-night diner afterwards and drink coffee until the alcohol wore off. Yes, they talked until the sun came up, that was true. But he didn't _do_ anything, he didn't cheat.

That was his mantra as he walked into the house at seven in the morning. Harry was already up, of course, he was an early riser.

"Morning, Freddie," he said calmly, not looking up from his paper.

" 'Lo," Fred responded through a yawn.

"You were gone when I woke up."

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep." I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't do anything wrong, he repeated silently.

"Mmm. Hate it when that happens." He took a sip of coffee.

Fred stared at him. Typical. The bastard wasn't even going to let him feel guilty. Fred walked into the bedroom feeling quite rejected and collapsed into sleep.

* * *

_He was crawling on the ground. Thorns from bushes tore at his clothes and skin, but that didn't matter. He had to get to the clearing. There were people fighting, dying, in the clearing. He needed to help them. _

_He reached the edge and straightened up. The screams were much louder without the trees to block the sound. The smoke from a fire got in his eye and made him blink away tears. He aimed his wand at a Death Eater's back and suddenly George was there, pushing him away, there was a shriek, and a flash of grey, and suddenly George was there, suddenly there was blood everywhere and George was stumbling. Bellatrix was laughing, a beautiful, melodic laugh as if it was all just a silly joke-_

Fred awoke yelling, covered in sweat. Harry was sitting up in bed next to him, shaking him awake.

"Freddie, hey, come on, wake up, it's alright…"

"Harry—" he gasped as he sat up.

"I'm here," he said softly.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry…" Fred concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Harry put an arm around his shoulders and stroked his cheek with his other hand. "You're okay now."

Fred nodded to himself, then rested his head in the crook of Harry's shoulder. "Right."

They sat in silence for a while until Fred's breathing calmed down. "Do you want to talk about it?" Harry asked.

Fred had spent so much time the last few days convincing himself that Harry didn't care about him, and the question caught him off guard. "Talk about it?" he repeated.

"It's just – you were shouting," Harry said. "I couldn't help but..." He looked away nervously.

Fred didn't respond right away. "If it wasn't for George… he saved my life that day," he said in a choked whisper. "It's been so long since… dreaming about the war." He held back tears valiantly. Only a few fell onto Harry's arm. "Will you come with me? To the Burrow with me tonight?" He was vaguely aware that technically, Bill had invited Harry first, but he didn't care. He wanted to hear Harry say it. And Harry seemed to understand.

"Of course I will."

After a while they laid back down. Harry held him tightly and pressed kisses to the back of his neck and Fred wondered how this could be the same man who two days ago wouldn't even look up from his paper.

* * *

They slept in that morning, and neither mentioned Fred's nightmare. Harry made something he called a 'skillet' for breakfast. Fred didn't know what was all in it – it seemed like every breakfast food imaginable thrown into a pan with vegetables – and he picked at it unenthusiastically.

After their late breakfast Harry went into the office. He was late, but he didn't say anything about it. Fred sighed in relief once Harry had Floo'd. He appreciated the gesture, he supposed, but it left him more confused than ever. He didn't know how to take someone who would sacrifice being hours late to work and yet wouldn't be bothered to wonder where he'd been all night. The butterflies he used to get in his stomach whenever he thought about Harry had been replaced by a horrible, uncertain queasiness, and he didn't know what to do about it.

A tapping at the window startled him. It was an unfamiliar owl, large and black and rather regal looking. He sucked in a breath of fear before he saw it was carrying a small role of parchment, though, and not a black envelope. Black owls made him very nervous, as they did most people these days. He wondered who would possibly still be using a black owl and silently cursed them. He slid open the window and detached the letter.

_Freddie—_

_Enjoyed our talks the other night. Would like_

_them to continue, if you're interested?_

_-D_

Of course. Malfoy. Just like him to have a giant black bird that gave people heart attacks. What was he thinking, sending letters to him like this? Right to Harry's window? This really wouldn't do. He scribbled a quick response – _Be at the café at three, Freddie_ – and sent the owl on its way.

* * *

"What were you thinking, sending your owl to Harry's flat?" Fred demanded as soon as Malfoy sat down.

He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "I wanted to talk to you. I assumed it was your flat as well."

The waitress came over with another coffee and Fred glowered until she went away.

"It's very distinctive, if you haven't noticed. You're lucky Harry wasn't around, are you trying to get me in trouble?"

"I assumed Harry was at work," he said. He dumped an obscene amount of sugar into the mug.

"He was late. Missed him by minutes."

"Late, hmm? A bit preoccupied?"

Fred glared at him. "If this was just a way to get information on Harry—"

"You're the one who brought up Potter, if I'm not mistaken," Malfoy interrupted.

"Yeah, to tell you not to send your bloody black owl to his flat! Our flat," he amended quickly.

Malfoy smirked and sipped his coffee. "Alright, I won't send Francis to your flat anymore." Fred murmured his thanks. "So I take it you want to keep our little meetings between us?"

"Wouldn't you? And technically so far it is only one little meeting. The first time wasn't a meeting, we just sort of met."

"Right, one secret meeting, one secret sort of meeting. Got it."

The waitress came back, looking at them nervously. When Fred didn't glare at her she gave them some menus.

"Hungry? It's on me," Malfoy said, picking one up off the table.

"Starved, yeah."

Malfoy's lips quirked and he asked, "Potter make you breakfast?"

"Is it that obvious?"

They enjoyed some eggs and bacon and talked on a wide variety of subjects, including but not limited to: the current Minister and his failings, a few new bands that were out on the WWN, and the adorable antics of Draco's cousin's daughter Eleanor.

"A lot of the cousins are only children, so we grew up close. I consider Ellie my niece and she calls me Uncle Draco. It's really nauseatingly cute."

Fred laughed.

"Speaking of family, how are you feeling about your dinner plans?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Fred spit out the coffee he had begun to sip.

"Damn, Weasley, you got it on me!"

"It's only a bit," he said, and handed him a napkin. "You really know how to cut to an issue, don't you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's one of my many talents."

"How do you even know about that?"

"You told me, in the bar," he reminded him.

"Oh." Fred frowned. "Must've been before I knew who you were."

"Oh thanks."

Fred grinned. "To be honest… I'm bloody nervous as hell. I could be walking into a trap."

Malfoy stared, and let out a surprised laugh. "A trap? Weasleys?"

"Don't even start, Malfoy."

"No, I mean, I don't think it's a trap. If they invited you over, they probably want to reconcile." He grimaced. "Now, if it were the Malfoys, then it would probably be a trap."

"Yeah, guess you're probably right."

"Don't start, Weasley."

A rather comfortable moment of silence passed. "You know," Fred said thoughtfully, "if someone told me five years ago I'd ever be sitting in a diner with Draco Malfoy, exchanging friendly banter and calmly talking about my estrangement from my family, I probably would have socked them in the face."

"Yeah, well, if anyone had told me I'd be sitting in a greasy diner with a Weasley telling them of the dangers inherent in Malfoy family dinners I'd probably have done a lot worse."

They laughed, and Fred looked at his watch. "Six twenty-seven?" He sprung to his feet. "Merlin, we've been here three and a half hours! Harry's been home, he's probably wondering where I am." He gave a rueful grin. "He wouldn't usually, but we've got a family dinner to suffer through."

"He's going with you?" Malfoy asked. He looked strained.

"Actually, Bill told Harry to, and I quote, "bring me over." So it'd be weird if I showed up without him."

"Doing the family thing, huh?" he asked quietly.

"You know, Malfoy, as surprised as I am to admit it, I do enjoy talking to you. Please don't ruin it."

"And for a Weasley, you're not all that bad company, either," he said with a smirk. He added seriously, "I'll try if you will."

Fred nodded. "Thanks for lunch," he said, then rushed out.


	6. He Who Must Not Be Named

Ch 6 – He Who Must Not Be Named

* * *

Fred raced into the bedroom at break-neck speed and started ripping through the closet.

"Hey you – woah, in a hurry?"

"Yes, Harry, I'm in a hurry, because it's almost seven o'clock and we're supposed to be at the Burrow for dinner, if you haven't forgotten."

"Oh. I figured if weren't home yet there wasn't a reason to worry."

"You know, Harry- oh, I don't have time for this right now." He grabbed a nice buttoned shirt and threw it on over his t-shirt. He looked over at Harry. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked incredulously.

"What's wrong with it?" Harry asked, a little defensive. "It's just a shirt."

"It's got a stain on it, for Merlin's sake!"

"Where?"

"Right there, like a bloody x marking your left nipple!"

"Alright, alright, I'll change."

Fred waited for Harry in front of the Floo. Nerves were kicking in and he alternated between wishing Harry would hurry up and hoping he would take longer. Sooner than later Harry was standing next to him.

"You ready?" he asked.

"No," said Fred, and he stepped into the Floo.

* * *

Everyone, and in the Weasley family, Everyone was a lot of people, was already seated at the table. Apparently they figured he wasn't going to show. Fred was mortified. So much for a good impression.

The silence was broken by Adrian, Charlie's little girl, shouting "Uncle Fred!" and running over to him.

"There's my girl!" Fred said, thankful for the distraction. He picked her up in a bear hug. "You're getting so big! Soon you'll be the one picking me up!"

Harry came out of the Floo behind him and waved cheerfully. "Hello, Weasleys," he said.

"Harry, I don't think you've ever met—"

"Uncle Harry!" Adrian cried.

"Well, if it isn't little Adrian," Harry said, and gave Fred an apologetic look.

"Right. Well. Yes. We all know each other, then," he said a bit desperately.

"Actually, Fred, you've never met Jacob. He's my youngest," Charlie said, picking up a small boy out of a chair and setting him on the ground. He held the boy's hand and walked him around the table. Fred rushed up to meet them.

"He's two next month," Charlie said.

"Well, hello there Jacob. I'm your Uncle Fred."

Jacob looked up at him with wide eyes. "Daddy says you mean to him."

Charlie looked horrified. "I didn't said that!"

"Yes you did Daddy you an Mum said he was mean an said he wasn't gonna come to the pawty—"

"Well, looks like I was wrong, doesn't it?" he said quickly.

It was about to be a very awkward moment, but then Molly cried, "Oh, Fred!" and leaped up, giving him a hug just like the one he had given Adrian minutes earlier. "Oh, Fred!" she said again, and burst into tears.

Arthur came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome home, son," he said.

After Molly had composed herself Fred and Harry sank into chairs, Harry with a small smile on his face and Fred with his eyes rather red.

"I have some things for you, Fred, dear," Molly said, and she produced from behind the table a large, bulky bag and brought it over to him. "I couldn't just, I mean, well, here," she said, and dapped at her nose with a handkerchief.

Inside the bag were boxes, all gift-wrapped. He pulled one out. "Christmas gifts?" he asked.

"I saved them," Molly said.

Suddenly Fred dropped the gift on the table. "Where's George?" He looked around the table and saw another place setting, another empty chair.

"George, well, he doesn't come around very often," Bill said without meeting his eyes.

"He's not here." It wasn't a question. "He's not here and I only just…"

"He'll come around," said Arthur.

"Excuse me," Fred said quietly. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. He stood staring at the mirror and drew a line with his finger down his cheek and across his lips. Harry watched this from the doorway.

"You're not as cute as the other one, yanno," said the mirror.

Fred stared a second longer, then drew back his fist. Harry caught it. "You want to explain to your mum why her mirror is broken?"

Fred sighed. "No."

Harry let go of his hand. "I know this must be hard for you—"

"Harry, don't. Just, don't. Not now."

"Alright."

And suddenly Fred wanted very much to punch something again.

The rest of dinner went by rather smoothly. When Fred returned from the bathroom he made a formal apology for all he had said the last time he was in this house, and after that things were more or less like they always were. Hands and red hair everywhere, mouths moving a mile a minute, talking and trying to eat all the potatoes before the other brothers had a go at them. Ron only said a few rude things, and he said a few things that weren't rude as well. Fred knew he should be happy, knew he _was_ happy, it was just buried under the disappointment that George was not there. Before he left, he pulled Bill aside.

"I assume that you had a lot to do with this," he said.

Bill shrugged. "I did what I could. I don't like seeing the family apart like that."

"So you talked to everyone about it and all? Got them all to agree to it?"

Bill gave him a look, but just said, "Yes."

Fred hesitated. "Did you…"

"Yes," Bill answered. "I talked to him. For a few seconds, anyway."

"What did he say?"

"Not much, to be honest." Fred gave him a look. "Well, he kind of slammed the door in my face when I asked him to come."

Fred ran his fingers through his hair in agitation.

"Sorry," Bill said. "Maybe you'd have better luck."

Fred bid the family farewell, took his bag of gifts, and Floo'd home with Harry.

* * *

"Talked to your counterpart today," Malfoy said over his coffee.

"My what, now?"

"Your counterpart. Your better half. Your doppelganger. The other half of the egg. Ringing any bells?"

"Oh." Fred stared at his own mug and stirred it.

"Aren't you interested in what he had to say?"

Fred fixed him with a look.

"He came into Madam Malkin's while I was being fitted. Thought it was you until he got up close. What happened to his face, by the way?"

"Damn, Malfoy. Ever hear of tact?"

"Tact is just lying for grown-ups."

"I think I've heard that before."

"Oh well. So what happened?"

Fred shook his head incredulously. "It's hard to believe you're scared to come out of the closet. You don't give a shit about anyone else's dirty laundry."

Malfoy smirked. "Nice try, but I won't be deflected."

He sighed. "Bellatrix Lestrange happened to his face."

Malfoy shuddered and added more sugar to his coffee. "That's horrid."

"He got it saving my life," Fred said.

"That was very Gryffindor of him."

They sipped coffee in silence for a while.

* * *

Harry was in the kitchen making omelets and most likely putting disgusting things in them when Fred meandered into the kitchen for tea.

"Good morning, sleepy. Have fun last night?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Harry gave him a sharp look then turned back to his omelets. It was a new level of hostility for Harry, and Fred silently congratulated himself.

* * *

Fred slid into the booth across from Malfoy.

"You're late," he said.

"I've been thinking," Fred said, ignoring the comment. "All we do is talk about stuff."

"What, you're looking for a little more?" The smirk.

The eyeroll. "Okay, maybe I didn't phrase that right. We never talk about you. We talk about politics and the weather and music and my problems. We never talk about your problems."

"Well, Weasley," Malfoy sighed, "that's because I don't have any problems. Rich, you see."

"Hardy har har." Fred passed him the sugar. "You have some of the shittiest problems ever, and that's just what I already know."

"The shittiest problems ever? Like what."

"Well, you're still in love with Harry for starters."

"I am not!"

"Oh please. The first night we met you were all moaning about how you broke his heart."

"I was _drunk_."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts."

"I think I've heard that somewhere."

"And you're too scared to come out of the closet because of what your parents and the press will say."

"They'll disown me!"

"And see how money is, in reality, the root of all your problems."

Malfoy glared. "It isn't about the money."

Fred raised his hands. "Alright. Then what is it about?"

He stirred his coffee and took a few sips before responding. "Being disowned isn't just about the money. I'm an only child. There's the estate, it's been in the family for hundreds of years. It would end up going to that weird Nymphadora woman—"

"Tonks?"

"That's her Muggle name, yes."

"I didn't know you were related to her."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So are you."

"What? No way."

"Much more distantly, but yes. Malfoys and Weasleys are tied four generations back on your mother's side."

Fred stared. "How do you know all this?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I was taught. And it's not just about the estate, either. I wouldn't be allowed rights to the Malfoy name. I literally wouldn't be able to sign my name Draco Malfoy. It's an old magic."

Fred wasn't impressed. "What's so bad about that? Pick a new name."

"You wouldn't understand. It's an honor to be from such an old Pureblood family. It means something."

"I'm from an old Pureblood family," Fred pointed out.

"Well, yes, _technically_. But the Weasleys aren't really considered Purebloods anymore by anybody that matters."

"Excuse me?"

"Not trying to be rude," he certainly didn't look like he was trying _not_ to be rude, either, "but there it is. The Weasleys don't have any of the old Pureblood honor—"

"I happen to think we have enough honor to make up for our bank account," Fred said coldly.

Malfoy made an exasperated sound. "There you go about money again, it's not about money. It's about class. Society."

"And we Weasley's don't have any class, is that what you're saying?"

"Not really, no."

Fred glared at him. "Well, I won't lower you anymore, then. You probably don't want to be hanging around with us down here in the gutter, anyway." He stood and walked away.

"Oh, come on, Weasley, I didn't mean…! Bugger all."

* * *

Fred was in a foul mood when he walked through the door. He kicked his boots off viciously and shed his clothing as he walked to the bedroom, throwing the garments haphazardly on the floor. Harry was sitting up in bed reading some book and looked up when he heard Fred.

"Oh, hello. Didn't expect you so early."

And with that one innocuous comment, Fred had had enough.

"And why the bloody hell not?" he asked.

Harry went back to his book. "You come in later often, that's all."

"Quit hiding behind that blasted book and talk to me!" Fred shouted.

Harry quietly marked his place in the book and set it on the side table. "Have you been drinking, Fred?"

"Maybe I stopped at Kim's and had a drink or seven. What's it to you?" he demanded.

"I just think that you're upset and the alcohol—"

"The alcohol has nothing to do with it," he spat.

"Well then I don't understand—"

"No! You don't understand! You'd be happy as hell just to go through the rest of your life not understanding!"

Harry sighed. "Freddie, you're not making and sense. Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't do anything!"

"So why are you so angry?"

"Because you never bloody do anything, Harry! You just sit there with your pretty little smile and let me do whatever I please!

"Oh, well, yes, I can see now why you're so upset."

"Don't play me off like that, Potter. We've been together over six months now and you still don't care if I'm out all night."

"We've talked about this before! Why are you trying so hard to make me angry with you?" Harry shouted.

"Look at that! The boy's got a temper."

"Yes I have got a bloody temper, and I don't appreciate being shouted at when I haven't done anything wrong!"

Fred made an over-exaggerated gesture of rolling his eyes, just to be sure Harry saw it from across the room. "Nothing wrong? Really? Treating me like a bloody flatmate when I'm your damned boyfriend is 'nothing wrong' to you, is it?"

Harry finally got out of bed. "What do you want, a curfew?"

"Are you being purposefully dense, Potter? Because no one is really this thick-headed."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "Stop calling me Potter. And you know, I suppose I am this dense because I have no clue what you're on about. If you've forgotten, the only man I've been with is Draco Malfoy and that wasn't really a _normal relationship_."

"Oh, so now we're talking about Draco Malfoy, huh? The amazing Draco Bloody Malfoy who you always asked where he was going and he broke your heart anyway."

Harry looked as though Fred had slapped him. Then his mouth hardened and he said in a low, dangerous voice, "Get out." It was a voice Fred recognized even through the haze of liquor as the same tone Harry had used with Ron when he said 'This has _nothing_ to do with Malfoy.'

He left. Harry was angry, and for some reason Fred wasn't as happy about it as he thought he would be.


	7. Moving House & Epilogue

Ch 7 – Moving House & Epilogue

* * *

"Weasley?"

"Ungh."

"Weasley, what are you doing in my elevator? And, er, where have your clothes gone?"

"I tried to be in your house but it didn't work," Fred explained blearily.

Malfoy hauled the other man to his feet. "Is this your towel?"

"No. Bring it."

Malfoy shook his head, grabbed Fred and the towel, and brought them both into his flat.

* * *

A Pepper-up potion and some trousers later, Fred was in a much better state.

"Harry kicked me out last night." He added, "We had a fight."

"I figured as much," Draco said. "What was it about?"

"Well, Let me think a moment..."

"You were drunk?" Malfoy asked.

"I suppose I was, yeah," Fred admitted.

"That explains the wardrobe. And I suppose you stole the towel off a clothesline?"

Fred looked sheepish. "I didn't have any clothes," he said.

* * *

Fred explained the fight to the best of his recollection. By the time he was through the pepperup potion was wearing off and his headache was coming back. Malfoy put him up in his room with the promise that he keep all his clothes on and left him to go to work. Fred wondered if he was late.

He stayed in the bedroom for the next twenty or so hours, leaving only to piss and grab a bit of food. Malfoy never seemed to be around, so Fred grabbed a book on the side table and tried to read it. It was some difficult thing on advanced potionmaking and it made him doze every time he tried to read it. That was alright, though. He didn't have to worry about anything while he was sleeping.

The next day Malfoy still wasn't around. He wondered if this was normal Malfoy practice, never being home. He spent some time exploring the flat. Fred wouldn't say it was lavishly decorated, but it was almost. There were clean lines and no clutter, expensive or otherwise, but you could tell a decorator had charged an exorbitant amount of money to do very little. It was all very clean. Malfoy had something Harry told him was called a Tee Vee, and it was like paintings that couldn't see you. He watched them move around for a while but found himself trying to engage the little people in conversation. He wondered why Malfoy had something so obviously Muggle.

Aside from the Tee Vee the only things of any interest in the flat were his books, and there were a lot of them. Most of them were textbooks, however, and Fred lost interest. He had no desire to go outside, though, and besides he had no clothes. Malfoy's closet was all on color-coded hangers and he didn't want to touch them.

* * *

The next afternoon, Malfoy was finally back.

"Wheh you been da last fewh yearsh?" Fred asked with a mouth full of cereal.

"Excuse you?" Malfoy said, hanging his cloak on the tree next to the fireplace.

He swallowed. "Where've you been the last few years?"

"Ministry stuff. You know Aurors, always want to be on missions." He came and sat next to Fred at the kitchen table.

"I think I started calling him Potter."

"Excuse you?"

"Harry. During our fight."

"You're still on about this?"

"Not really, but I forgot this bit earlier and I wanted to ask. Is it that bad?" Fred asked.

"What happened after you called him that?"

"That's when you got brought up, then he kicked me out shortly after."

"With no clothes," Malfoy said added. "I'm not surprised at all, that's how bad it is."

He shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could have stopped and put on some clothes, I just didn't think of it."

"Understandable. Potter enraged is not something anyone is prepared to handle."

Fred sighed. "Honestly, he didn't even get that upset until you were brought up. I think it just confirms what I've thought for a while."

Malfoy was silent for a second, then asked quietly, "What's that?"

Fred looked him in the eye. "That you seriously fucked him up."

"… Sorry."

"You live, you learn. Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Your problems."

"That didn't work so well last time."

"Yeah, you're right. Think I'll go take a shower."

* * *

It was the third time this week Fred stood outside 642 A, Diagon Alley. But, he thought. It would not be the third time he walked away. He walked up the wooden staircase to the flat above Flourish and Blotts and knocked loudly on the door.

"Just a 'mo!" came a voice from inside. A female voice.

The door swung open and revealed a cute, blonde witch. She looked like she had just woken up; her hair was mussed and she was wearing only a bathrobe. She looked at him, said, "Hello," then did a double take. "G—George?" she asked uncertainly.

"Is he here?" Fred inquired.

"George, how did you, your face…" she said wonderingly.

"Who's there, 'Rina? I'm in the bathroom."

Poor 'Rina looked very confused. Fred guess she'd never been told her boyfriend had a twin brother. She shut the door in his face.

He heard her saying, "George, I think you'd better..." as she walked away from the door.

Fred stood patiently outside.

Suddenly there was a loud ruckus from inside and the door swung open again and there stood George staring back at him, eye to eye, nose to nose, everything the same but the scar.

They stood there like that a long while and just when Fred opened his mouth to say, "I'm sorry," George said, "Took you long enough."

Fred opened and closed his mouth soundlessly a few times, then George pulled him into a hug. 'Rina came out a few minutes later and they were still standing in a locked embrace.

"Um, George? Why are there two of you?"

* * *

Coffee. The great unifier, Fred thought as he poured too much sugar into his mug.

"I told you the day you left that one day you'd be on my doorstep begging for forgiveness. Excuse me, miss," he added to the waitress. "Could we get a new coffee please? Thanks."

"I wasn't begging."

"Well, all I really wanted was the doorstep. We can take the begging as read." George grinned.

"I thought it would be hard," Fred said, accepting the fresh coffee and adding the appropriate amount of sugar.

"Did you really?"

"Well, no," Fred admitted. "But I worried you wouldn't forgive me."

"So did I," George confessed. "I worried I wouldn't be able to. But it's like, if you do something you're not proud of, you can't just…" he trailed off as the words got away from him.

"Stay mad at yourself?" Fred suggested.

"I can't stay mad at you. I knew it the moment 'Rina said, 'Oh George, there's someone at the door and I thought he was you'."

"How is 'Rina, by the way?"

"Oh, you know. How's Harry?"

"Kicked me out."

"Ah. So you need a place to stay?"

"Yeah, actually. I've been kipping at Draco Malfoy's flat."

"Merlin, why?"

"He's not that bad actually," Fred said. George gave him a look. "Well, he is, but he's good for a talk. So 'Rina would be alright with me moving in such short notice?"

George scoffed. "'Rina? Nah, she'd hate it."

"Really?" Fred said. "You'd do that for me? But where will she go?"

George shrugged. "Wherever. We got the apartment together, remember?"

"Of course I remember."

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

"Well of course it's going to take time. You have to take it in steps, this is really important to Harry." Fred passed Malfoy the sugar.

"I understand that, I'm not thick," Malfoy said, aggravatedly dumping a mountain of sugar into his coffee. "But he doesn't understand that it's important to me, too."

"Dentists must cry when they see your teeth. And the only reason it's important to you is because you're scared, just admit it." Malfoy grumbled something unintelligible about flossing daily. "You've already taken the first big step, and that's meeting Harry's family. Now he's got to meet yours."

"The Weasley's aren't technically his family," Malfoy protested, but he gave it up at the look on Fred's face. "Besides. Weasleys are much more accepting than Malfoys. They already have a ponce in the family after all."

"At the end of the day it comes down to pride. You don't have to get your pride from your name, Malfoy, you can get it from your actions."

"Thank you, Doctor Phil," he said moodily.

"Budge over, Fred," said George, and unceremoniously shoved him down the booth.

"How was Charlie and the kids?"

"Oh, just great," said Harry as Malfoy scooted over to make room. "Had two things of cotton candy each and they were flying."

"I can imagine," said Fred. "Excuse me, waitress? Can we get two more coffees over here?"


End file.
